Next You'll Tell Me You Walked Into A Doorknob
by BlazeorFade
Summary: Summary: Dean and John come home from a hunt, injured and the still in the dark Sammy wants to know what happened. Bumbling lies and cover-up ensues. Wee!chesters with Sam about 9 and Dean 13.


**Title: Next You'll Tell Me You Ran Into A Doorknob**

**Author: Blazeorfade**

**Rating: T to be safe for any foul language.**

**Summary: Dean and John come home from a hunt, injured and the still in the dark Sammy wants to know what happened. Bumbling lies and cover-up ensues. Wee!chesters with Sam about 9 and Dean 13.**

**Warnings: None besides tweaking the canon age that Dean first started hunting and Sam finding out about the family business.**

**AN: Dedicated to spnaturalgrl for being a wonderful ear for my school gripes. Much love and hugs honey! **

Sam was dosing on Uncle Bobby's couch in front of the t.v. when the front door opened with a crash. He jumped and started to yell for Uncle Bobby, cut he didn't have to. Bobby was already rushing to the door to hold it open for the large misshapen huddle coming through the doorway. It wasn't until the three men moved into the light of the living and dumped Sam's older brother on the couch that Sam realized it was his dad, carrying most of the injured Dean's weight and looking like hell himself.

"How bad?" Uncle Bobby asked, matter of factly, not panicking at all at the sight of all the blood running down the side of Dean's left arm and the large abrasion on John's neck. Pretty much the exact opposite of Sam's reaction.

"What the hell happened?" Sam exclaimed, choking back bile when he saw that one of his dad's fingers was twisted in a direction nature never intended it to go.

"Language." John barked out, saying nothing more.

And if it weren't for the situation Sam would have said something snarky back but instead he just kneeled next to his older brother and tried not look freaked out. He vaguely heard his father and Bobby talking in semi-hushed tones a few feet away.

"Heya Sammy-boy." Dean slurred looking at his brother through glazed over eyes.

"Dean what happened to you?" Sam demanded, trying to make his young voice sound as hard as he could. Trying for the Dad tone as Dean would put it if he weren't bleeding out over Bobby's couch.

"Car accident, never saw it coming…." Dean trailed off, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"Dad!" Sam yelled and suddenly both John and Bobby were right by his side.

"Damnit. Get the kit, Bobby. And the Holy Water." John tacked on.

'Holy water, what the hell good is that going to do?' Sam thought, the oddness of John's words cutting through the panic racing through him.

In no time Bobby was back and holding what looked liked the kind of emergency kit you'd find in a hospital and a silver flask, pushing John to the side and cutting away Dean's shirt to get to the wound.

"Sammy go to your room!" John yelled, finally noticing Sam still standing behind them as they worked, staring in transfixed horror.

"But," Sam protested feebly as he got a quick look at the deep gash in his brother's shoulder and the knife firmly planted in it.

"No questions, just go, Sam!" John replied.

"We have to take care of your brother, son." Bobby said, somewhat more gently. That and the fact that he couldn't take the sight of the wound any longer was what made Sam obey.

He took the stairs numbly and tried not to think about what he just saw. Who did that? Why would they do that? Why would they do that to a kid like Dean? What did their dad need Holy water for? And why was this scenario starting to be just like when they were younger and their dad would come home battered to hell and Dean would send Sam to be and do first aid?

As he closed the door to the room he stayed in at Bobby's place, Sam felt the shock where off and let the anger takes its place. He w anted answers. If his family was being hurt and was in trouble, he deserved to know why?

With determination and the ever present worry for Dean and his dad in his mind, Sam strategized his plan of attack. First he'd start with Bobby, who was a sucker for the tears Sam could summon on cue, then Dean, if he was awake, because Dean had never denied Sam much of anything that he could give him. Then, then he'd confront his dad, cause whatever he was into, Sam thought, Dean shouldn't be part of it.

Sam woke up early and steeled himself for the day ahead. He would not be deterred! He stealthily made his way downstairs and took the least used route to the kitchen, peaking around the corner to make sure his dad wasn't in there. Luckily Uncle Bobby was alone and drinking down his morning, or probably in this case very late, evening coffee . Sam smiled to himself for deducing that this would be where Bobby would be.

"What happened last night?" Sam asked, making the tired Bobby jolt and still coffee on the table top. Bobby gritted his teeth and forced a smile.

"Gettin' good at that, kiddo." Bobby said, grabbing a towel and making a half hearted attempt at cleaning up the mess.

"What happened to Dad and Dean?" Sam demanded. Taking a step closer.

Bobby sighed deeply, running a hand over his face, "They just ran into bit a trouble, running an errand."

"An errand that involved Dean getting stabbed." Sam retorted.

"Sammy, I think you should just let this drop. Yer dad and brother are gonna be alright. End of story." Bobby said, giving Sam a weak smile.

Alright time to bring out the tears. Sam's eyes welled and he saw Bobby tense up. Sam'a lip quivered a little and he sniffled almost inaudibly. He didn't want to over-do it.

"Dean was bleeding. He couldn't even walk on his own. That's not fine." Two silent tears rolled down Sam's face.

Bobby looked around as though something, anything, would save him from the terror of a crying child.

"Uhh. Maybe I should just get yer dad." Bobby mumbled, trying to make a break for the hallway, but Sam caught Bobby's larger hand in his smaller ones, looking with all the sincerity he could muster.

"What's going on with my family?" Sam asked sadly. He could practically see Bobby begin to cave. Sam's heart sped up, maybe he'd finally know what the hell was going on.

"Sam, there are things you can't understand yet and-"

"Up early Sammy?" John's stern voice interrupted and Sam bit down on his lips to keep from swearing. So close.

"I'm gonna catch some sleep." Bobby said with relief, making his escape.

John and Sam stared at each other, each assessing the other. John knew the fake tears trick, he'd taught it to Sam, as a distraction when one was needed.

"Sam."

"Dad"

Silence followed as they stared one another down. Sam started to get a nervous feeling in his stomach. As stubborn as Sam was, his dad was a pro at this game. Sam swallowed, looked into his dad's eyes, which had that look that said "I can do this all day, kid", and decided to move on with the original second phase of his plan.

"Gonna go back to bed," Sam started, then reached into the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, all the while keeping hid suspicious gaze on his dad.

"You do that." John said simply. An order, not a have a good rest, or any other assurance. John knew too much. Sam would have to be much more subtle, if he wanted to get his answers without being blocked by the formidable John Winchester.

Sam spent the next half hour in his room, listening to his father pace downstairs and trying to discern a whispered conversation between Uncle Bobby and his dad, during which John let out a loud-

"No. Not Now!" And that seemed to be the end of the conversation. Sam heard Bobby curse and stomp to the room he called his study, where Sam was never allowed to go, but Dean had been invited into just a couple of days prior, much to Sam's envy.

Sam listened hard at the door. He heard his dad open the fridge and the distinct sound of a bottle cap being twisted off, before John went out the kitchen door into the junkyard.

Now was his shot.

Sam crept soundlessly down the stairs. He'd learned a long time ago where every creak and crack in the stairway was and how to avoid sounding the alarm. Dean was placed in Bobby's room, so either dad or Bobby would be close by if he needed them. As he pressed his ear to the door, Sam bit his lip as he heard his brother's heavy, stable breathing. He felt a stirring of doubt; Dean was hurt bad, what if Sam made him sick or something by starting an argument. He was sure it would be one, cause Dean never disobeyed dad and daddidn't want Sam knowing whatever the hell was happening. The youngest Winchester had recently read an article about the effect of fatigue on sick people.

'He wouldn't be hurt if he hadn't gone with dad last night,' A little voice in the back of his head reminded him bitterly. With that thought in mind Sam steeled himself and opened the door as quietly as he could, darting inside and breathing a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him.

Sam stopped for a moment in shock. Dean was as pale as the sheets he was sleeping on and a bloody bandage was wrapped tightly over his hurt shoulder. He tossed a little in his sleep, being unused to sleeping on his back, making little hurt noises when he jarred his shoulder. Sam bit his lip, looked at the door, back at Dean.

"Heya Sammy." Sam almost jumped out of his skin when his brother greeted him groggily. His voice was so quiet Sam was surprised he even heard him.

"Hi Dean." Sam choked out, compelling his feet to move forward. He sat in the well worn armchair that had been dragged to Dean's bedside, probably by their dad.

"Does it hurt?" Sam asked, glancing from the bandages to the bruises on his face and neck.

"Nah." Dean lies and Sam almost believes him, 'cause he really, really wants to.

"Dean, what happened to you?" Sam asked, leaning close and staring Dean straight into his half-lidded eyes.

"Sam." It's not an answer, it's something between a plea and an order. Let it go Sam, he says with his eyes, Leave it alone, one more time, just leave it be.

Sam, shook his head and cleared his throat.

"I want to know what happened to you guys. I have a right to know." Sam demanded, hardening his voice as much as possible.

"Right? Anything here seem right to you Sam?" Dean slurred, his eyes drifting closed again. But Sam can't let him go just yet, he has to know.

"No," Sam snapped, "You always say family is everything and right now my family is in trouble and I want to know why."

Dean opened his eyes and looked at him with an intensity that belied the fatigue etched into every line of his young face.

"I was helping dad fix the car. I was underneath and I made a mistake. That's it." Dean said slowly, his voice going harder, ordering Sammy to believe him. Problem being though, Sam didn't take orders well.

"Bullshit! Do you have any idea how lame that sounded, I'm not an idiot," Sam yelled, pulling up from the chair and pacing the room in a way that reminded Dean of their dad when a hunt was going wrong. Dean snapped out of his addled thoughts when Sam stopped in front of him, squaring his shoulders like a mini John Winchester. Dean realized he hadn't heard whatever Sam was ranting about a moment ago.

"What?" Dean slurred, shaking his head a little to clear it.

"I said next you're gonna tell me you walked into a doorknob." Sam seethed, rolling his eyes, petulantly. Now that was a mannerism that was all Sam and that put Dean back on track.

"Maybe I did, but you should see the doorknob." He replied smirking in that way he knew Sam hated.

Sam was about to reply when the door opened loudly and their dad walked in with a tray of fresh bandaged and an pill bottle that had no label to identify what was inside it.

"Sammy, I'm gonna tend your brother. Go occupy yourself and let him rest." John said, giving Sam no excuse or argument to stay. Sam stayed where he was for a long minute, eyes narrowed and shoulders back, before giving a sharp nod and leaving, shutting the door hard behind him.

"Boy's got balls, I'll give 'im that." John said as he started to cut away the old wrappings around Dean's shoulder, all the while looking over his face with his keen eyes.

"He wants to know the truth." Dean said simply. He kept a wince to himself when John gently prodded the area around Dean's stitches.

"You were younger than him when you found out." John said, surprising Dean.

"That was different. Sam is still a kid." Dean replied, trying to quell the fear that the reality he'd tried so hard to keep from Sam was about to be smashed open for his little brother and then Sammy wouldn't be Sammy anymore. He'd be a Hunter's kid and with that a Hunter himself someday.

Just a little longer, Dean pleaded internally, let him be a kid a little longer.

"He's not stupid Dean," John said, pulling Dean's face up to look him in the eyes. "He'll figure it out. Soon. And then what?"

Dean opened and closed his mouth, shocked to see his own fears and doubts mirrored in his father's face. John had never spoken to him like an equal before, like he might get a vote here, which Dean knew he really wouldn't but it was good to feel like he had a say in what happened to the brother he raised. The moment ended and the two men didn't acknowledge it further.

"How's this feel?" John asked, after clearing his throat. He touched the nasty bruise on Dean's throat with his calloused fingers. It hurt like a bitch but Dean said what he was expected to say.

"Fine Sir."

John went to Sam's room, watched his youngest in the doorway for a few silent seconds. Sam was rapidly reading through some text book from school, flipping the pages impatiently. He didn't know his father was there till he felt a tingle down his spine, tensed and looked up, defiance written in every part of him.

Definitely had balls.

"You wanna know." John said matter of factly, leaning against the door frame.

"Yes." Sam said with an older person's conviction.

"And you think you're ready for this," John asked, watching Sam watch him warily. "You're ready to take everything I say for the truth and trust me?"

"Dean does." Sam said, speaking volumes of things Dean himself would never fully comprehend about the faith his brother had in him.

"Fine. Don't say I never warned you though." John pushed off the doorframe and closed the door behind with a final click.

There would be no turning back after this.

_**-Fin**_

**AN: I hope you like this chickadee. It turned out a lot more serious than I first intended and sorry it took so long.**


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